


a ghost in me wants to say I’m sorry

by Knightblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, Episode: s07e01 Meet the New Boss, Gen, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are not many things in the world that can scare an angel, except for this. (Takes place during 7.01 'Meet The New Boss')</p>
            </blockquote>





	a ghost in me wants to say I’m sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Written in celebration of finishing a massive 50k+ draft written for one of the big bangs I signed up for. ACCOMPLISHMENT, GET. Anyway, spoilers in this fic for Season 7, so anybody who doesn't want to know, now's the time to press the back button. Otherwise, enjoy this little drabblet thing.

There are not many things in the world that can scare an angel. After all, not many things in the world can truly stand up to an angel’s Grace—any demon faced by it will be taken out under its holy light; any monster drawn to it instantly killed like moths to a flame. Humans, obviously, are (almost) entirely out of the question. There are, perhaps, a few pagan gods and goddesses that the angels would do well to not cross paths with, and then there is _their_ Father who they all love with all of their beings and rejoice in the fear that have for Him.

There is no place in the world that can scare an angel—Hell by itself is a brutal concept, but it is not _terrifying_ , and to charge into its depths is something that has only been done a few times ever since its existence, the last time done in a bid to raise the Righteous Man from perdition.

There is no real person, or no real place that can scare an angel, for angels are the greatest servants of God and of Heaven, and they possess powers that are beyond any other being in the world.

This is why when Castiel finds himself suddenly waking up to a sea of blood before his eyes, for the first time he feels the stirrings of _fear_ deep in his gut.

* * *

The voices don’t stop haunting him even after Castiel has thrown himself miles and miles away from the _massacre_ he has awakened to. Castiel doesn’t really recognize exactly where in the world he’s thrown himself to and he doesn’t really care, because all he can register is the shiver that runs down his spine as the whispers continue to swarm in his head, poisonous words and clever tongues licking around his mind and murmuring promises of power and salvation at him—promises that Castiel knows will never keep.

 _Castiel,_ the voices whisper in his mind, coaxing and promising and enticing all at once. _Castiel, our Saviour, our God, our Messiah. We will give you our strength if you let us so._

 _No,_ he thinks stubbornly as he attempts to right himself, teeth gritting as he straightens up and pushes himself against the nearest wall he stumbles to. _You will not tempt me._

 _We only wish to help,_ the voices reply, sounding not unlike a curious, innocent child—except that children do not whisper like this, and children do not talk about power and glory and might. _With us, you can rebuild your kingdoms and cities. With us, you can shape the world to your liking._ Children do not talk about kingdoms and cities and children do not talk about the world like this—Castiel knows what they are now, and who they are. Death had said as much, hadn’t he?

( _“Why do you think he created Purgatory? To keep those clever, poisonous things **out**.”_ )

Castiel heaves a breath and squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching up as he attempts to tune out the voices and the whispering and force himself to have a semblance of peace in his own head. His control over them is still there, at least, but he can feel it slipping—it _has_ slipped already, once, and just the memory of that is enough to make his blood turn cold, more than enough to send a shiver across his entire body. It’s not the blood or the deaths or the act itself that terrifies him—it’s the fact that he _can’t remember_ at all what happened. The fact that the voices had overwhelmed him so easily like that and he didn’t even realize it.

He knows now that he’s overreached—and overreached _badly_ —but what exactly can he do now? He’s driven Dean and Sam away, he’s put them away and distanced himself from them. After what he’s done to Sam he doesn’t expect Dean to ever forgive him—he knows for a fact that hurting Sam is something that Dean would never allow, and yet that is exactly what he has done, and in the worst way as well. He can all too easily imagine the things that Sam must be seeing now and the suffering that he’s feeling; all that pain and torture for a human is more than enough to drive even the strongest of minds insane, let alone Sam.

The angel lets out a pained sound and tips his head back, hitting the wall behind him. This is his justice, he supposes, his just desserts for everything that he’s done. He sees the error of his ways now but it’s far too late to correct them, far, far too late. The Leviathans already have a hold on him and it’s only going to be a matter of time before—

 _Hey, Castiel._

Castiel opens his eyes and blinks, almost unable to believe what he’s hearing. Is that—

 _Um... Maybe this is pointless. Look—I don't know if any part of you even cares—_ and Sam’s voice, it is Sam’s voice, and Castiel feels inexplicable relief at hearing the younger Winchester’s voice as he shuts his eyes again and focuses on that voice, using it as a tuner to drive out the poisonous whisperings in his mind. _—but, um, I still think you're one of us, deep down. I mean, way, way, way off the reservation, but..._

But? Castiel stops breathing for a moment, not quite sure if he wants to believe or hope again—he wonders if he actually can.

 _Look, we still have till dawn to stop this. Let us help. Please._

A shuddering breath escapes from him before Castiel registers it, and in that moment the angel feels—he feels a million things, really—but he’s glad that Sam is alright, at least. He’s alright, and he wants to help, and help is all that Castiel wants now.

The angel closes his eyes again to push away the voices of the Leviathans in his mind, and focuses on Sam as he throws himself back to Sioux Falls. He senses Dean as well when he arrives, but Dean is not what that is on Castiel’s mind at this moment—after all, it’s not Dean who’s called him here.

Castiel takes a deep breath to steady himself first before he rasps out the name of the one who prayed for him.

“Sam.”


End file.
